


Mr. Death-Or-Something

by cazcatharsis



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coffee, Crack, Death contemplating self, Death has a sense of humour, Death messing around after Chicago, Death messing around before Chicago, Feeding Death, Foodies, Gen, Jaws, Lots of foul language, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Season 5 AU, Smoking, That gorgeous car, The Princess Bride References, Walking dead references, blatant worship of Monty Python, budding friendship, lots of coffee, season 6 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2018-07-28 08:04:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7631797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cazcatharsis/pseuds/cazcatharsis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Death makes a buddy in the midst of the apocalypse.<br/>Jules is wondering what the f*** is going on.</p><p>(Pure crack)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Salmon Mousse

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote most of this a couple of years ago, worked on it in spurts here and there since, and now, yeah, 'publishing'. Set around the end of Season 5 of Supernatural, when Death is still under Lucifer's control. I have to laugh, when I wrote this, I named the OFC Jules.... then I looked up who played Death. Right. Kept the name anyway.
> 
> Written because Death needs more fandom love. And a thorough feeding. And because Monty Python is the shit.  
> Oh, and I mostly pull this stuff outta my ass so don't take it seriously :) I'm out of practice and flexing my flabby writey muscles so... yeah, all errors, just ignore em. LOL
> 
> Apologies for the spacing, for some reason my laptop and a03 don't like each other.

(Season 5 - Pre-Chicago)

 

***

 Jules studied the thin man in front of her as she pondered what he’d just said. He’d already proven that yes, he was Death.  The Death.   _Death_ Death.  So she didn’t completely discount what he’d said.  Pissed about her jade plant though.  Poor thing.

She was dead.

_Dead? From what, an aneurysm?_

 “I don’t usually make personal visits, but this one caught my interest.”

  _The fuuuuck?_

 “Yes, it is disconcerting to have the Grim Reaper appear and tell you quite casually that you are dead.”

 “Next you’ll tell me Englishmen don’t have any balls… Oh… oh, _as if!_ ”  Jules’s brain went kerplooey at the very idea that… _no_.  “Noooo fuckin' way. Uh uh.”

 

“Yes.”  The man’s dark eyes sparkled in amusement, and that clinched it.

 

“For fuck sakes.”  Jules didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.  “The one time.  The ONE time I try to make it.”

 

“You didn’t use canned salmon, did you?”

 

“I’m so dreadfully embarrassed.” She quipped back instantly, helpless to resist despite the horror she felt that her cooking was really THAT bad.  “I can’t fuckin’ believe this.  I don’t even like fish.” she flailed, half giggling, half flabbergasted.

 

The Grim Reaper, dapper with his cane, tilted his head curiously. “Then why did you make it?”

 

“Wanted to see if it was worth six people dying for.  And it was for a company party and I drew the short straw.”

 

“And was it? Worth dying for?”

 

Jules shook her head emphatically. “Nope.  I imagine it’s what a can of smashed assholes would taste like if assholes were made of fish.”

 

“Descriptive.”  

 

“Thank you.”  

 

Death stood and observed quietly, thinking as Jules paced.  At her third time past her living room window she noted the gorgeous white Caddy parked in her spot. _Unf. Oh fuck. Is that his car?!  Well, gotta give it to him, dude has good taste._

 

_Speaking of taste..._

 

“Can I have one last wish or something?”

 

She could tell Death had heard that one before,  “Possibly.”

 

“I don’t want to go out with the taste of frickin’ salmon on my tongue. Better a cup of coffee and a smoke.”

 

Death looked amused. “Done.”

 

 _Huh. Awesome_.  “Want a cup?”  She offered in instinctual hostess mode.

 

“Please.”

 

That’s how Jules found herself grinding up her best dark roast, shaking, afraid, resigned and, stupidly, a little star-struck.  According to shit she read after that… _incident_ , there were plenty of reapers, demons, whatever out there… this was DEATH.  The only one out there as powerful was God, and she doubted he existed at all.  Death, well, was in her living room, browsing through her books.  He was real. _Oh fuck I hope I hid my porn!_

 

“How do you take it?” She called out, thinking too much too fast so when Death appeared next to her like magic (which it likely was), the spoon she was holding flew backwards over her shoulder and into the sink.

 

_‘Three points!’_

 

Death took up the sugar bowl and poured.

 

“Not happy til the spoon stands straight up, hmmm… good man.”  She barely stopped herself from giving him a friendly shoulder punch and fled the kitchen, mentally laughing and face-palming at the outright ridiculousness of this whole ordeal.

 

Death in the meantime was struggling not to smirk.

 

They spent the next few moments stirring coffee, lighting cigarettes ( _Death frickin’ smokes! And the skinny bugger even mooched one! Not like he couldn’t pillage cancer-ridden bodies for leftover ciggies… oh god stop thinking!_ ), and eyeing the fridge, the whole time Jules was trying very hard to banish lines from the Meaning of Life movie from her head.  And the harder she tried, the clearer it ‘broadcast’. She finally burst into hysterical giggles when she had a vision of tomorrow’s news headlines: _‘Local woman found poisoned by salmon mousse. Mr. Death-or-Something (local hedge trimmer) had this to say, ‘You’re all so fucking pompous!’’_

 

The grim reaper actually snorted his coffee and dug in an inner jacket pocket for a silk handkerchief.  After he dabbed the last drop of coffee from the corner of his mouth, he finally smirked. “Your mind is a strange place.”

 

“Yeah, so I’ve heard.  Sorry.”  

 

“No, you’re not.”

 

“No, I’m not.”

 

~!~!~

 

Jules crushed out the embers, trying not to be annoying by drawing it out, even though everything in her was screaming to flee or do whatever she could to squeeze out a few more seconds of life. Though seconds didn’t really matter at this point.

 

 _Oh fuck, the coffee pot. OFF._  

 

She grinned to herself, amused that at least there was prep time. Wouldn’t do to mix burnt coffee smell with eau de bloated corpse.

 

 _Ugh_.

 

Death appeared next to her, placing his empty cup on the table and refilling with a spark in his eye.

 

_Well then._

 

“In the interest of offering some modicum of comfort, I must say that so far this visit ranks in my top ten for entertainment.”

 

She studied his face.  He wasn’t lying. _Well, at least I ain’t boring. Mom would be proud of my Death Hostessing skills._

 

And he had a surprisingly comforting voice.  Like a funeral director telling the family how sorry they were, but he actually seemed to mean it.

 

“Thank you.”  she said, and meant it.  “Doesn’t change anything but…”  she paused, instinct taking over again. “Hey.  I hate wasting food. Cinnamon bun?”

 

It was a deep seated habit.  Her gramma fed everyone, her mom fed everyone, and now she fed everyone. Everyone also applied to Death himself, apparently. But he was thin and frail-looking and Jules liked fattening people up.

 

“We can take em with us, if you’re in a rush…”

 

Death quietly sipped his coffee and looked over the still warm buns she’d baked just that morning. Silently and with delicate fingers he took one and wandered into the living room, not a care in the world.  

 

Jules had to swallow some more hysterics before she joined him.

 

The bun was mostly gone by the time she got in there, with a sated looking Death lounging on her lazy-boy, eyeing up the plate. She yoinked one before placing the plate on the small table next to him so he could eat his fill.

 

“Well, I always said I’d take this recipe to my grave.” She quipped, plopping herself on the couch with her bun and coffee mug, lighting another smoke.  Not like she had to be afraid of cancer anymore, right?

 

Death snorted lightly.

 

“Thanks.”  She said around a mouthful of bun.

 

He placed his cup on the table and took his third gooey bun, fingers brown and sticky, a question in his eyes. _Better get the Grim Reaper a napkin.  Oh for fuck sakes, don’t laugh._

 

“This isn't exactly ideal, dying right now.”  She huffed a laugh. “But at least it’s a good way to go.  No cancer, no monsters eating me, no dumb-ass swan-dive off a balcony.  Just sitting here, listening to Cohen, with good strong coffee and pleasant company.”

 

“I’m here to kill you and I’m pleasant company?”

 

“You’re not being an asshole about it. I count that in your favour.”

 

***

 

_He didn’t mind sitting down for coffee. Despite Lucifer’s spell, he had some control over his actions after all.  So between ‘assignments’ he went leisure-reaping, and amazingly, found a death from his personal mental bucket list. He couldn’t resist the whim to pick her up himself. And now that he was here, he was quite enjoying her company as well._

 

_And she made terrific coffee._

 

_After somewhat careful consideration mixed with heavy cinnamon bun belly influence and plain old spite against Lucifer’s control, he made his decision.  He allowed himself one exception per decade, and he liked this woman. She was just too damned strange. The last one was Keith Richards and he’d never regretted that one._

 

 _Which reminded him, he simply_ must _pay him a visit. It had been a while since he gave Keith a good fright._

 

***

 

The plate was empty and her cup had dregs. And Death smoked her last cigarette, the bugger. It was probably time to go.

 

She took his cup (an inch away from touching his hand _ohmygod_ ) and empty plate ( _dude’s a frickin’ food vacuum!_ ) and took them into the kitchen.  Dirty dishes for whoever found her.

 

She didn’t want to go.  But… well, Jules was glad that she was going like this.  It could have been some long, painful shitty death.  Instead she got to relax a bit, have some food and coffee and, strangely enough, decent company.  He scared her, hell, he terrified the shit out of her, but he was pleasant, polite, and she could imagine listening to him talk for hours. And she could feed him.  

 

Jules grinned stupidly.  Maybe if she asked nicely he’d take her for a spin in that sweet-ass Caddy before she had to endure perpetual Christmas.

 

“Not just yet.”

 

‘ _Well, there goes the plates’_  she scoffed, frowning down at the shattered pieces in the sink. ‘ _Okay, do NOT give Death shit for startling you. No. No no no_.”

 

He winked at her, swung his cane about and strolled out of the kitchen, but not without a parting shot as he looked at her over his narrow shoulder.

 

“Good work, sleep well, I’ll most likely kill you in the morning.”

 

 _Oooh, oh no he didn’t_.  Jules stood stunned in her kitchen watching his coat-tails disappear around the corner, then burst into hysterical laughter when the front door clicked shut.

 

 _Oh man, okay,_ that _guy I like!_

 

_Wait. He left.  And I’m still breathing._

 

She ran to the window and watched his car back out and drive down the alley.   _Is he coming back?_

 

_Fuck?_

 

The leftover salmon mousse immediately hit the garbage.  Fuck the company party.

 


	2. Poutine and Chocolate Cake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Death is trying to justify his whimsy and Jules is eating too much.
> 
>  
> 
> (have made some minor edits)

~!!~

(Season 5 - Pre-Chicago)

  


The next time she saw Death, she was at her favorite poutine joint.  This time she was indulging in ‘Hangover Poutine’; eggs, bacon, cheese, onions, pretty much a big fat poutine orgasm.  She wasn’t hung-over, she just needed the greasy cheesy indulgence.

In the time since the Salmon Massacre, as she called it, she’d nearly quit her job (the place was a hole and she hated it, but death or no she needed the money), cut back on her smoking, bought a cookbook and nearly contacted people she didn’t want to have contact with.

Since the _‘incident’_ , she did her best to remain below their radar. Grateful as she was for their assistance back then, she didn’t like the way the older one treated her, like he was unsure whether she was a _bitch_ or a _whore_ , that there was no other category for her.  Contacting them regarding her meeting up with Death, to her, wasn’t worth the trouble.  What answers she could get from them she could also likely get from a library, and libraries didn’t mouth off to her.

That was her next stop, after the food indulgence. A nice long sit-down in the library.  Things had been fucking weird planet-wide, maybe it had to do with _him_. At least in part. Which probably wasn’t any of her business but Jules was undeniably too curious for her own good. He had, after all, poofed into her apartment and ate all her damn food.

 

One moment she’s staring in awe at the mouth-watering yumminess piled atop her plate, the next, a second plate piled high with perogies, bacon and more poutine, and a pale hand bearing a pale white ring, wielding a plastic fork.

“Hello, Jules.”  Came the expected funeral-director-smooth voice.

“Hello, Death.”

He resumed chewing, so, not knowing what else to do, Jules dug into her own food again.  Having the goddamn Grim Reaper appear at her table gave her another reason to enjoy the fuck out of the dish.  Nothing like assuming every meal was your last.

“This is a personal first.”  Death said, reaching for his coke.

“Pickup twice for the same person?”

Death gave her a look. “Poutine.”

“Blasphemy.  In Canada for more than a day, poutine should be part of your standard diet.”

“Technically I’ve only been here for an hour.”

Jules thought about it as he slurped his coke. The time before, he was at her apartment for _less_ than an hour.  “Oh, right. Magic Death Poofing.”

 

It was almost worth the trouble of dying to see the Pale fuckin’ Horseman snort up carbonated beverage and try not to cough it all over the table.  Jules mentally cackled and refrained from pounding him on the back.

“You okay, boss?”

Between coughs Death gave her a massively amused look and replied, “You have an odd way with words.”

“Thank you.”

“I didn’t think I could choke.”  His normally soft, clipped voice was slightly strangled.

“I wonder if I can do the Heimlich Manoeuvre on… whatever the hell you are…”

Death shrugged and speared a perogie with his fork. “Let’s not test that, shall we?”

“The visual alone should entertain me awhile.”

 

He continued to eat like a starved man until the entire plate was clean.  Jules could only eat about half before she gave up and asked for a doggy bag.  Just in case.

After the table was cleared, Death folded his hands in front of him, resting them on the table, and studied her silently for a moment. Then;

“Do you know why I spared you?”

Jules froze. _What the fuck do i say to that?_  She decided to be honest. “You really asking me or is this rhetorical?”

His eyes sparkled. “Yes.”

_Smart-ass._

“Sure as hell wasn’t for my cooking skills.”  She said under her breath.  Death heard it anyway, judging by the way cheekbone shifted suddenly.  He had a fascinating face.   “I’m assuming you want me for something. Nobody does anything for free these days.”

Death appeared to consider that.  Jules allowed herself to believe, just for a moment, that he really didn’t have some ulterior motive for not leaving her mousse-poisoned body on her kitchen floor.

“To be completely honest, I don’t know why.  Whimsy being the closest, I think.”  

 

Jules could understand that. She did shit just because she felt like it at the time, not knowing why.  What frightened her was that Death himself indulged in ‘fuck it’s.  He really _didn’t_ know why he kept her alive. Whimsy was something that could swing all ways. And someone who held, well, life and death in his hand should probably put more thought into stuff.

Then again, being a death dealer day in and day out for, well, EVER, he must have to have fun once in a while just to break up the monotony. The Darwin Awards were proof enough that Death had some humour.  Really, her initial death… _oh man I would probably have been listed in this year’s Dumb Death lists!_ So a whimsical mercy non-killing wasn’t too much of a stretch.

“Well, whatever your reason, I get to eat poutine a while longer because of your whim, so, uh, thank you.”

“And I would likely not have tried it if I hadn’t spared you.  The decision has already _reaped_ benefits.”

_Death just dad-joked me. Surreal._

“Dessert?”  A waitress stood next to us, once again startling Jules who thankfully wasn’t holding anything.  

“Nothing caffeinated for me, thanks.” she laughed.   _Might fly straight out of my skin if I don’t watch it._

Death flipped through the menu. “Actually, yes, whatever you have that’s absolutely _drowning_ in chocolate.”

“That would be our Extreme Chocolate cake with chocolate ice cream. You even get a chocolate spoon.”

Jules mentally drooled.  “I’ll have that.”

“Make that two, to go please. And the bill.”

 _Shit_ .  Jules instinctually freaked out at the idea of going _anywhere_ with Death. Which made sense but still, she believed he would tell her if he was going to off her.

Death picked up where they left off. “I assume the reason will present itself as time passes. Until then, and as a favour to me, please don’t do anything world-changing.”

 _Pfft_.  “Yeah, no problem there. I’m pretty boring."

“Even boring people can alter the natural order.  This-” Death gestured at them both, “-has already done so. I’d like to keep the ripples to a minimum.”  

“So no paintball rampages on a zamboni wearing a clown suit. Got it.”

The waitress returned with two Styrofoam clam-shells and the bill. “I split it for you and applied the senior’s discount…”

Jules bust out in giggles before the waitress could finish. _Senior_ …

“No inheritance for you.”  Death gave her a mock glare and paid for both meals and desserts. The waitress left, smiling both at their banter and at the decent tip.

Jules smirked and stood, both clam-shells in hand.  “I’ll live.”

He picked up his walking stick and also rose, giving his coat a once over to rid itself of crumbs. “Possibly.”

Jules mentally stuck her tongue out at him. 

Death took a deep, settling breath. “I could use a cup of coffee.  Apparently I look too much like my brother.”

_Eh? Brothers... Oh yeah. There’s four of em. Killy, uhhh… Fighty, Foodie and Sneezy.  Or something._

Death pinched the bridge of his nose and Jules knew right then and there that he heard that too. _Oh, blame the food coma and leave my twisted brain alone, you!_

Jules decided talking aloud was a better idea. “Me too. There’s a couple of decent places nearby that make a good Shot in the Dark…”   _Ah, hell with it._ “Or, you’re perfectly welcome to raid my supply again. If you’re up for over-indulging, I have a couple of those cinnamon buns in the freezer to go with our cake.”

“Mmmm.”

Jules blinked.  And saw her own couch. _Dayum_. “Wow. Okay.  My place it is then.”

Death leaned his cane against a bookshelf and smirked slightly.  “I love your buns.”

“Yeah, that’s what they all say.”

  
  
**~~**

 

And so it came to pass, that the Pale Rider and a secretary from the great plains of Canada became sort-of friends.  Every week or so, if he had a spare hour, Death would pop in, have a cup of coffee and some non-world relevant and quite ridiculous conversation, watch the occasional movie, and get fed.  Jules was just happy to be alive, and after the first couple of visits she mostly got over the instinctual fear of the Horseman and really enjoyed their talks.  If she put on a couple of pounds because of the insane amount of greasy food, well, it WAS Canada. The blubber would be useful as hell come winter.

And the gossip was to die for.  

 

After a while, the unusual pair would appear at taco stands and greasy spoons all over the world.  If the dark haired woman looked frazzled and out of sorts, sometimes in her nighty, the servers said nothing. There was something about the slim pale man accompanying her that gave them chills, pleasant and mannerly though he was.  

  
Death learned that he could indeed choke more than once, and Jules learned that she had no goddamn clue how to do the Heimlich.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might go Pulp Fiction-style after this. Time jumps and weirdness. 
> 
> I don't really have a physical description for Jules yet (besides dark hair). It's in my head, and seems unimportant to the story. So, see her as you will :)


	3. Pickles and whisky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Death contemplates, and Jules realizes she's a total space cadet.
> 
>  
> 
> Yeah, i don't know either. I'm just having fun. And apologies again for the spacing. Open office to A03 doesn't seem to work very well.

 

(Season 5 - pre-Chicago)

 

“Zombies?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“ _Zombies_.”

 

Death looked impatiently at her. “That’s what I said.”

 

That threw her for a loop.  If the zombie apocalypse came she thought it would have been from a virus, not Death himself raising the dead. “Wow.  That’s kind of awesome.”

 

“It’s not the Walking Dead, Jules.”

 

A waiter walking by caught the tail end of that conversation. “Oooh, i LOVE the Walking Dead!”

 

Jules laughed,  “Did you get the latest paperback?”

 

Death munched on his pickles while the waiter made a sour face. “Yeah.  Loved it but I can’t believe what they did to Lori and baby Judith.”

 

“Yeah that was harsh. But The Governor got his ass kicked by his own, so…”

 

“Hah! Well anyway, need a refill?”

 

They both took more whisky and Death ordered a plate of deep fried jalapenos. The waiter left to get their food and Death gave her a look.

 

“Really? You’re a zombie fan?”

 

Jules heard the hint of condescension in his voice but ignored it in favour of smart-assery. “Dude, I eat pickles with Death, and zombies are a reach?”

 

He scoffed.  “No accounting for taste.”

 

“Like I said.”  Jules snarked as she speared a pickle.  

 

Death raised a brow and Jules had to the good grace to look chastised.   _Well, you walked right into that one doofus, don’t blame me!_

 

“I rather did, didn’t I?”   

 

_Oh fuck he heard me call him doofus._

 

The pair remained silent til Phil the Waiter came back with their jalapenos.  “Gave you a few extra, much tastier than brains.”

 

“Yay!”

 

“Thank you.”  Death dug right in to the melty cheese sauce.

 

When he left Jules got a bad idea.  “Could always get Gabriel to … wait, nevermind.”  

 

Making a goddamn archangel create the Walking Dead TV style in collaboration with the Grim fucking Reaper, NOT the best idea even if it was fake.  Anyway, someone was producing it already, she heard.  

 

“You are full of wonderful, awful ideas. Don’t tempt me.”

 

Jules had nothing to say to that.   _Better get my apocalypse go bag ready… waitaminute. Apoca…. For fuck sakes, what’s wrong with my brain?!_

 

“Oh, you just thought of that now?” Death snarked around a mouthful of fried jalapeno batter.

 

Jules couldn’t get used to Death reading her mind.  “It just... never occurred to me. I’ve never really looked into christian mythology until I met Gabriel.  It's never my first thought.”  she shrugged.

 

“Why else would I be meandering about?”

 

“The chili cheese fries?”

 

“Yes, but they're not worth sticking around for.”   He paused when Phil dropped the bill at the table.  As had become custom, they raced for their wallets to see who would pay.  Jules won that time, and stuck her tongue out at the Horseman.

 

“I don’t know why I let you get away with this.”

 

Jules shrugged again.  “I don’t know why I do it.”

 

“That’s fair.”

 

“Where the hell do you get money anyway?”

 

“Pillaging corpses.”

 

It took her a moment to realize he was joking.

 

Once they paid the bill, they exited the pub and appeared suddenly in Jules’ apartment, which as usual threw her for a loop.  “I gotta get you to take me to work on a regular basis… would save an assload of time and bus fare every morning.”

 

Death scoffed and wandered into her living room to peruse her books again.  He seemed to gravitate towards Leonard Cohen poetry.

 

“The usual?”

 

“Please.”

 

The odd pair spent an hour chatting over dark roast,  Jules’ curiosity overwhelming her until she finally coerced Death into telling her what the hell was happening in Apocalypse terms.  As he explained the basics to her she nodded in a haze.

 

“He’d like to think he ‘freed’ me from 600 feet down, but he merely called me from another dimension.  Like I could be kept in a hole…”

 

“He has you on a leash, dude.” Jules spouted before she could stop herself, only realizing after she said it how shitty it sounded.

 

Death, surprisingly cool about it, nodded. “True enough. But yes, I was busy in another place and _he_ called me here and _leashed_ me, as you called it.”

 

“What an ass-hat.”  She almost felt sorry for the devil if Death ever got loose and came after him. But at the same time, Lucifer could kiss her fat ass for bringing on the apocalypse. The twat.

 

_The fucking apocalypse.  Well shit._

 

“Try not to think on it too much.”

 

“Hard not to, Death.”  She tilted her head at him, smirking. “But when the zombies come for me you better not send reaper sidekick #46 to get me.”

 

“I’ll do my best.”

 

Jules laughed.  It hit her once again how damned odd her life was lately.  Talking about angels, Satan and the apocalypse with Death. In her livingroom. Over coffee.   _Good fuckin’ god, change the subject._

 

“So what’s the ring for?”  She'd seen him fondling it once or twice, ignoring the screaming thought in her head that he was fuckin' around with someone's life with a mouthful of pickle-juice.

 

He lifted his hand out like a new wife showing her sparkly. “I think it’s pretty.”

 

Jules scoffed.  Death could be a smartass when he was in a mood. And from what she could tell he was _always_ in a mood.

 

“It is. Matches your car.  Which, by the way, I must just steal one day.  Go joyriding.”

 

He gave her a light whack in the leg with his walking stick. She was starting to get a welt from repeated caning.  This was the fourth time since they met.

 

“So, there’s thousands of reapers just on THIS world at any given time, I can’t even imagine how many you have running around in other places."

 

Death nodded slightly, waiting for her to get to the point.

 

"But not one of em’ has a ring like that right? What, only you Horsemen types have em’?"

 

“I rather despise that term.”

 

Jules shrugged. “I dunno, it sounds kind of bad-ass to me.  The four Horsemen and their magic decoder rings. Get one now, all you gotta do is send in five bucks and lay waste to the Earth.”

 

“You have a strange mind.”

 

“Survival tactic, I hang out with strange people.”

 

He just shook his head, that sharp, fascinating face lit up with a slightly amused grin.  Jules smiled.  Death was really an awesome dude. Not that grim. She got along with him, and she didn’t like too many people.  Slick, laid back bad-ass, and he wasn’t an asshole.  Well he was, just more her kind of asshole.  A tolerable asshole.   _And why did i just think that?!_

That tolerable asshole was going to deep fry her and send her to the pit one day if she didn't watch her fucking brain.  
  
  


***

 

_He didn’t know why he kept coming back to her.  She was belligerent, snarky, a speck of dust in the universe, and yet here he was, relaxed in her lazyboy, tolerating her lip with a smirk.  Maybe he was bored, tired of the dullness of existence here, being Lucifer’s pet doing his bidding when called. It was nice to just… not do what he was told, not reap anybody, just… be.  And sitting with this strange human girl let him do just that. He couldn't, didn't, do things like this with Keith or any of the others in other worlds._

 

_She was not unafraid of him, he could tell, but that fear was lessening with each interaction. It would never go away completely, being who he was, the aura he exerted wherever he went, and that didn’t bother him any.  She obviously respected him at the same time she lipped off to him, she knew the consequences if she went too far.  Maybe she knew, deep down, that every minute she had now was borrowed time and she was making the most of it, in her own way._

 

_And to be honest with himself, it was nice to unburden his mind to someone other than God.  It was a change of viewpoints.  God never had to live directly with the consequences of his actions, not really.  This way, he would get the opinions and reactions of someone ‘on the ground’._

 

_And he still loved her coffee._

 

_But he felt a tingle that interrupted his thoughts, one that told him somebody important was about to be sent his way. Once Death narrowed it down, he frowned.  This would not be pretty._

 

_“Hey, what’s up?”_

 

_Jules, the woman he could likely name ‘friend’, showed concern for him.  It was a bizarre gesture. He only got similar attitudes from his ‘brothers’, two of which were already out of the picture. He’d have to pop by and make sure War and Famine were taken care of.  After._

 

_Death heaved a put-upon sigh and rolled his eyes for her.  “Apologies,  but I have been summoned.”_

 

 _“Summoned?  Oh, fuck,_ that _guy.  Hope you get to whack him in his satanic nut-sack someday with that cane of yours.”_

 

_“Now that would be a sight.”_

 

_“I’d pay to see it.”_

 

_He wishes he could tell her the truth.  It wasn’t Lucifer calling him.  It was Gabriel and the God-Squad, as the angel so ludicrously called them. His priority was Gabriel, who really wasn’t that much of a player on the board now, but, he felt, doing this one himself was a personal favour to Jules. It was strange to him to feel any obligation, but it also felt like anything less was an insult to their budding friendship._

 

 _Death knew his own makeup.  If_ God _created_ him _, he made him an equal, or as close to it as he could.  And as God felt, so did he.  He was just vastly out of practice._

_He would just have to start to accept it.  He liked this woman.  He didn’t like too many people.  God was one, as they spent a lot of time together, and his brothers of course, and he was beginning to feel an affinity for the Winchesters (a little, they were at the very least entertaining, but how that went would remain to be seen), and now, Jules._

 

_He did not want to see her face when she found out.  She and Gabriel were close at one time._

 

_Maybe he could use Gabriel’s passing as an advantage… the rings. A whisper and the idea would be planted. Pestilence would be angry if he found out but… well, who would he tell?_

 

_“Next week?”  Said Jules as she stood to ‘walk him out’ as she always did._

 

_He gave her a final wink, feeling a wee bit whimsical. “I’ll bring pizza.”_

  



	4. Spiders and Rollercoasters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I... don't know.

  
  


Season 6  Ep 11  (aka Death’s Day Off)

  
  
  


Things had settled a little.   She’d mourned her ‘brother’, the archangel she’d mutually adopted years ago.  It was tough but she got used to him not popping in. She missed him terribly though.  Death confessed to knowing that day, but hadn’t told her how. Just that he was gone. And since Gabriel hadn’t come to her since, she believed him.

 

For the next year, things fell in to a routine.  She’d work, she’d clean, she’d bake, and at least once or twice a month Death either drove up, poofed in to her apartment, or texted her a location (which blew Jules’ mind) and took her out to eat, or ate all the food in her apartment, and had a chat or watched a movie, or strolled about some foreign city, sometimes with Tessa along for the ride.  

 

_ That _ meeting was interesting to say the least.  When Jules met Tessa, there had been a very reluctant handshake from Jules and a doubting glance from Tessa to Death.  But the younger reaper got used to their antics fairly quickly, and one day inside Bottega Conviviale, went so far as saying that their nattering at each other made them sound like an old, married couple. 

 

Death silently peered at Jules. 

 

Jules gave Death a once-over, then sighed dramatically.  “All of the arguments, none of the sex.”

 

Tessa spewed her wine.

 

As the waiters bustled about cleaning the table off, Death gave Jules a look that would kill anyone else.  “You… can be disturbing.”

 

“Thank you.”   _ If he kills me right now, it would be worth it. Reaper-spew count, 2! _

 

“Now go make me a sandwich.”

 

Tessa squeaked, slack-jawed, at her boss. 

 

“You’re sleeping on the couch, buster.”

 

~!~

  
  
  


It was nearly three weeks before she saw her friend again (and after over a year of hanging out, she did count him as an actual friend and not a beast who ate all her food and stole her cigarettes on occasion),  and the idea that she’d gone too far with her teasing crossed her mind more than once. 

 

The photocopier’s clicks and whirs were starting to make her feel all zen, and out of boredom she began composing music from the rhythm. Two hours standing here, making memos and pamphlets and forms, copy after copy after copy and these stupid-ass shoes were killing her and  _ WHY did she have to have a job where there was a dress code?  _

 

And why is it illegal to punch one’s boss?   _ Ugh _ . 

 

“Hello, Jules.”

 

“Shit on toast!”  Papers flew from her hands before she could catch herself, fluttering to the floor like so many down feathers, mixed all to hell. Jules spun and caught Death looking ever so slightly amused, leaned up casually against a rack of computer parts, holding his cane.  

 

“I’m putting a bell on you.” She growled as she bent to sweep papers into a somewhat cohesive stack. Not that she wasn’t glad to see him but god dammit this would add another couple of hours to her load.

 

“Yes, that’s sure to inspire fear in the masses.”

 

Jules snorted up at him. He seemed, well, one couldn’t ever call him  _ cheery _ , but he  _ did _ look somewhat happy. “Okay, you look scarily pleased with yourself.”  

 

“I… have the day off.”  He made it sound like the mere concept was totally foreign to him, and a good turn. 

 

“How’d you manage that?”     _ And why did he come here?  Wait, is he saying this is his first day off in fuck knows how long and… awwwwwwwww!   _

 

“I’ll tell you when we get to New Jersey.”

 

“New… dude, I wish I could but I’m workin’!”  Jules gestured needlessly to the stack of papers on the copier, on the counter and in her hands.  _  Well, I could fake sick or something, the least I can do, his day off and all… Hell with it, stop being a pussy.  _

 

Jules was ready to throw the papers again with a ‘fuck it, let’s go.’ but between one blink and the next, Death disappeared.

 

_ Shit.   _ _ Nice one, asshole. Whatever happened to throwing caution to the wind? You’re on auto-pilot with that whole ‘gotta work, need job’ shit. It’s his day off, and he came to you! Should have just gone _ .

 

Feeling like an utter slime, Jules slumped and stared at the floor in shame. 

 

_ Right. Well, back to work, sheep _ .

 

With a frustrated sigh she tossed the mixed stack on the counter and went to copy the new pile when she heard the click of high heels on cheap linoleum coming down the hall.  She knew those clicks, her boss’s bitchy pace, which always struck Jules with a chilly irritance before she even entered her space. 

 

The blonde in her cheap ‘power suit’ swished into the copy room with a condescending tilt to her head as she looked over Jules.  Jules, already in a shit mood, merely cocked a dark brow at her, mentally wondering what the fuck she wanted and hoping she’d leave before she snapped at her and got fired.  Not that she liked her job but she liked that she got money.

 

“Julian, we don’t need you for the rest of the day. Go home.”

 

_ Wha…. what the fuck…  _

 

The boss spun and made to leave, but froze for a second, then turned her head back to say, “You will receive your full day’s pay, of course.”

 

“... thank you?”

 

The boss nodded sharply and left, heels clicking steadily away til Jules could no longer hear them. 

 

“Whaaat the hell…”

 

The photocopier beeped at her in reply. Sometimes she wondered if it was really a Transformer. Or haunted. Somewhere in the back of her mind she waited for it to pull a Maximum Overdrive and shoot paper at her or something for all the times she performed percussive maintenance (aka a Fonzie-like whack) on it. 

 

“Shall we?”

 

Death stood just outside the copy room, looking a wee bit smug.  

 

“Did you just Jedi my boss?”   _  I could hug you. _

 

“The Force can have a strong influence on the weak-minded.” 

 

Jules scoffed as she glared at her stupid shoes, “Can’t get much more weak-minded than her. Next time talk her into getting me a raise, huh?”  

 

“Only if you’re good.”

 

“Dude, I’m  _ always _ good.”

 

She dodged his cane-swing and joined him at the door, feeling pretty damned joyful.  A paid day off to hang out with Death.  _ This could be interesting! _

  
  


***~***

  
  


_ I am going to die. _

 

“No.”

 

“They are supposed to be amusing.”

 

“I would rather piss hot magma.”

 

The two oddball companions peered up at the roller-coaster, locally nicknamed ‘The Fecalator’. Death rolled his eyes at Jules and gestured gracefully at himself. “You are standing next to the ‘Grim Bloody Reaper’ as you’ve called me and THIS,”  he swung his cane upwards at the vibrating rails, “frightens you?”

 

A line of coaster-cars, or whatever they were called, screamed past as a blur of colour and fear and a smidge of crazy.  Jules shuddered. “Let me put it this way, if I go to hell, all they have to do is blast Billy Talent and throw me on a roller coaster and I’m done.”

 

“I’ve not ridden in one before.” Death said softly with a hint of want.

 

Over-riding her surprise that Death could pull off the puppy-eyes look was her survival instinct. “Go ahead man, I’ll stay here on the ground where I won’t die a terrifying splattery death.”

 

“Again, look who you’re standing with.”  

 

Jules crossed her arms, stubbornly glued to the pavement. The line ahead shifted forward. Her doom stood only ten feet away in the form of the ticket-taker. 

 

Death tsked. “This is where I call you a chicken, correct?”

 

_ Oh no you didn’t.   _ “...You’re a dick.”

 

“Quickly, they’re boarding.”

 

“I think they made a Final Destination movie about this…” She gulped as the man took her ticket and winked.

 

“Where do you think I got the idea?”

 

“I’m going to die.”

  
  


*!*

 

“You really are trying to kill me.”

 

“Spiders are a delicacy in this region.”  

 

“Spiders are fiends from hell.”

 

Death chewed his slowly and secretly enjoyed (she was positive) her nausea.

 

*!*

 

The pair stood on the dock, both heads tilted in contemplation.  Jules was overdressed for the warm coastal Australian weather and longed to jump into the beautiful blue water.

 

“Let me guess. Sharks are bitey and therefore bad.”  Death snarked.

 

“Sharks are adorable, let’s go!  Fuck the cage, I wanna hug one.” Jules looked Death up and down. “I’m having trouble imagining YOU in a scuba suit.”

 

*!*

 

“Dude, they stole your look.”

 

The pair looked on as a colony of penguins waddled past, tubby and adorable, and bigger than Jules thought they would be.  Hundreds upon hundreds of them. 

 

“I am OG.” Death proclaimed with an air of righteous snobbery and an upward tilt of narrow lips.

 

Jules giggled.  “You, then the penguins, then the nuns.”

 

She was quick to dodge his cane, feeling better than she had in years. In the space of a few hours she’d seen more than she’d ever hoped to see in her entire lifetime. From Great White sharks to full grown adults peeing their pants in fear on the roller coaster, to fuzzy baby penguins and fried fuzzy spiders in Cambodia. 

 

“Where to next?” She asked with giddy anticipation (and no small amount of worry).

 

“Los Angeles. I’m hungry, and it’s near time I get back to South Dakota.”

 

Jules took Death’s offered arm with a grin, “Well, it was fun while it lasted.”   And with a hearty triple tap of her heels, she looked up at her friend. 

 

“Magic Death Poofing, Activate!”

 

Death was still pinching the bridge of his nose as Jules kicked the snow off her shoes in the City of Angels.

  
  


~!~

 

_ Two hours later: _

 

“Where’d you go?”

 

Death caught the tossed cigarette effortlessly and lit it with a thought. “To hell and back.” 

 

He sat on his side of the picnic table and explained where he’d disappeared to after the hot dog stand. Jules spent the time alone wandering around, completely lost, trying to find movie stars to harass. It was nice to be somewhere new, alone.  She’d had a feeling Death would just point out near-death starlets.

 

“Hah, knew he’d fail.”  Jules grinned over her beer.

 

“And you wouldn't?”

 

“Oh hell no,  I wouldn’t last five minutes with your Horseman Decoder Ring.”

 

“At the very least, you admit your irresponsibility from the jump."  Death sipped his beer before continuing. "Dean assumed that my job would be easy.”

 

The companions sat in silence, enjoying the evening for a few moments, until Death grew weary.

 

“Where to now?”

 

“My place? Jaws is on Demand.”

 

Death smirked.  They poofed into her living room, in front of a bucket of…

 

“When’d you get beer?”

 

“I can obliterate the planet with a blink, surely I can conjure a six-pack of Stella.”

 

“I knew I kept you around for a reason.”

  
  


~!~

  
  


_ He’d kept his eye on Dean Winchester’s activities all day, but did not worry about it.  Tessa was a reliable reaper, and he knew she would keep Dean in line. Or at least try. Whatever happened would be fixable.  And really, Tessa needed a break from the ‘Death and Jules go to White Castle’ tour. She’d been looking askance at him ever since Florence. _

 

_ And the trouble of fixing it would be worth it for this aimless day.  _

 

_ He rarely laughed aloud, and felt real joy even less,  but in his head, he spent most of the time between hysterics and long-winded cursing streaks.  Days like this is why he kept Jules around. Keith was never this entertaining.  _

 

_ And as Jules imitated Richard Dreyfuss’s expressions behind Quint’s back, he reflected on how long it’s been since he had this much fun.  There were times he wondered why Jules could get away with things an important human such as Dean Winchester never could. Then he’d mentally shrug it off and decide quietly to just go with it.  It could be he’d been in this dimension too long. _

  


 

~~!!~~

 

Author’s Note: 

I regret Nothing.


End file.
